


You and I Both

by orphan_account



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-11-18
Updated: 2012-11-18
Packaged: 2017-11-18 23:49:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,869
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/566686
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Another day to sing about the magic that was you and me.</p>
            </blockquote>





	You and I Both

**Author's Note:**

> disclaimer: this is entirely fictional, isn't meant to infer anything about these actual people. don't share this with anyone that it's written about, please

They’re at the top of the world.  
  
It’s crazy, really. All the arenas with countless seats, bright white lights and flushed skin, dewy with sweat fresh from performing. Hands reaching up at them, screams that pierce their ears and leave them with an irritating ringing sound, even hours later.  
  
Maddening, even. Their lives move at one pace, terrifyingly fast; no chance of slowing it down, taking their time. It’s all rushed. Tours and interviews, radio shows and photoshoots. Every second of every minute of their day, consumed by something. Life moves at this terrible rate and it gets hard to breathe at times.  
  
Louis can feel their time ticking away, sand falling into the bottom of the hour glass, grain by grain.  
  
+  
  
“Do you reckon I could have a photo?” Louis swipes his fringe out of his eyes and offers his kindest smile; eyes wide, teeth showing, vulnerable yet convincing.  
  
“Um, sure,” The boy with big green eyes and curly hair and dimples that dent his cheeks, he shrugs, steps forward to place a hand on the small of Louis’ back. And Louis – he’s not sure why, but he feels as though his skin is on fire in the place that Harry’s fingertips lay.  
  
There’s a flash. The moment is over.  
  
“Thanks, mate,” Louis smiles again, can feel the beginning of a blush start to creep on to his cheeks. “It’s just – I’ve seen you at boot camp. I’m there too, and um, I just know that you’re going to be okay.”  
  
Harry raises his eyebrows.  
  
A deep breath, blue eyes cast downward. “I just know that you’ll be alright, even if this doesn’t work out.” Blazing green eyes and an amused smile playing on swollen lips, red as apples. “You’ll be famous someday, I reckon. You just – you will.”  
  
“Thanks,” The boy says, extending a hand. It’s warm, and Louis’ hand looks delicate and fragile, wrapped up by long fingers. “I’m Harry.”  
  
“I know,” Louis admits, smiles. “I’m Louis.”  
  
+  
  
It’s their first show and Harry’s close to tears.  
  
His breathing is heavy; labored, chest heaving with panic. His green eyes dart all over the room, teeth gnawing at his thumbnail, hand shaking. He won’t talk to anyone, just stands there in the dark corner of the room, silently conversing with his demons.  
  
“Hey,” Louis says, swiping his thumb across Harry’s cheek. “Breathe.”  
  
“I can’t,” His words are choked and whispered and Louis sees the tears start to well up. “ _I can’t_.”  
  
It’s the low dull in all of their bellies that builds as the time runs out, as their show gets closer – and it’s Harry and the tears, shaking hands and whispers of doubt that tear at Louis’ heart, makes him want to scream until he’s breathless and raspy.  
  
“You can,” he whispers back, ducks his head close and brushes a kiss to Harry’s jawline.  
  
 _I just know you’ll be okay. Even if this doesn’t work out. You’ll be famous, someday.  
  
_ The tears have dried up and his hands are calm.  
  
Harry hits every note, voice silky and strong.  
  
+  
  
The stage lights are hitting him at all the wrong angles, and it’s hurting his eyes and he hears their name called; only it’s not what he’s expected. His chest aches and he feels like he can’t breathe; they all turn to each other and hug, apologies being mumbled and all five of them are wide-eyed, trying not to cry on national television.  
  
It hurts, because they were all so sure.  
  
Simon’s face is pensive, and he is patting them all on the back; it’s a gesture to tell them _don’t worry,_ and _it’ll all be quite alright_ and _I’m very proud of you._ Louis can’t see through his tears but he feels himself speaking and he’s just numb, numb, numb.  
  
“We’re definitely going to stay together,” Zayn’s voice sounds far away. “This isn’t the last of One Direction.”  
  
Harry’s in a blue shirt that matches his own and he’s just looking down and biting his lip and Louis wants to reach over, press his hands into Harry’s hips and save him from whatever is in his head.  
  
“This is just the beginning for these boys,” and God, _God_ Louis hopes so.  
  
Backstage is full of harsh intakes of breath and salty tears dripping off of chins, a lot of hugging and apologizing and promises that they’ll stay together; they’ll stay together no matter what.  
  
The rims of those green eyes are red and his tears are soaking Louis’ shoulder, but he holds Harry close to his body; grip tight, a hand on the back of his neck, a lot of whispering about nothing and choked sobs and kisses pressed to brown curls.  
  
 _I just know that you’ll be okay. Even if this doesn’t work out. You’ll be famous, someday._  
  
And with Louis wrapped around him and his mind a bit buzzed from the chaos of it all, Harry hangs on his every word.  
  
+  
  
Their mums have left and it’s just them two in a flat that seems too big for such small boys.  
  
“This is it,” Harry says finally, looking at Louis.  
  
It’s quite amazing, really, that they’re able to afford the flat – it’s been a whirlwind the past few months and it just makes sense, _makes perfect sense_ to move in with Harry. Because they’ve anchored each other throughout the entire thing, always talking late at night about life after, about what it would be like to be mates, band mates, flat mates.  
  
It’ll take some getting used to; not having the three other boys running around the place with them. It’s weird without Liam, who grounded them all in that quiet, gracious, _I’m just so happy to be here_ way. It’s weird without Zayn, who was easy to talk to, to vent to about everything that was wrong, even if things were going so right. It’s weird without Niall, who was so easy-going and could calm them down with a loose giggle.  
  
It’ll take some getting used to, but the timing and the situation is just right, and Louis is appreciative of his home and of Harry, who is curled up next to Louis with hot skin and quiet breathing, an arm draped over Louis’ tummy.  
  
Because Harry’s always been home to Louis.  
  
+  
  
“It’s just so bizarre,” Louis holds the album at arm’s length, squinting at the cover. “It’s like, all of our faces on a small square, and it has _our music_ on it, Harry.”  
  
“Yes, Louis,” Harry laughs, reaching over to pluck it out of Louis’ hands. “That’s a correct description of an album. Congratulations.”  
  
“Piss off,” is Louis’ response, and the album starts playing. Harry is flailing around and they’re jumping on their futon, scream-singing the lyrics and waving their arms.  
  
It’s by the fourth song that they collapse next to each other, breathless from exerting so much energy.   
  
“If we’re this tired after four songs,” Louis manages, rubbing at his face. “What are we possibly going to be like after an entire gig?”  
  
Harry starts to giggle and Louis laughs after, laughing and laughing until there are tears in their eyes and dull aches in their sides. Harry rests his head on Louis’ shoulder and an arm comes up to wrap around Harry, pulling him closer, securing him to Louis’ side.  
  
The ballads are playing and their eyes are getting heavy, laying on the futon in their dimly lit flat.  
  
“Remember what you said that day?” Harry’s eyes are shutting, eyelashes tickling Louis’ neck. “That day when I met you, back there in the toilet.”  
  
He’s looking down at this beautiful, beautiful boy.  
  
Louis is so tired. His eyes are drooping shut and he can only manage a hum in response to Harry’s question. Harry’s breath is hot on Louis’ neck and a feeling is growing in his stomach, just behind his navel – quivering and rumbling, something warm that radiates from the outside in.  
  
“You asked me for a picture,” Harry yawns, nuzzling closer to Louis. “And you said – you said _I just know you’ll be okay_. And you said, _I just know you’ll be alright, even if this doesn’t work out_.” His words hang heavy in the air, dancing around their sleepy heads. “You said, _you’ll be famous someday_.”  
  
“Yeah?” It’s whispered into Harry’s curls, Louis’ throat feeling tight.  
  
He can feel Harry smiling into his neck. “Look at us now, Lou.”  
  
+  
  
Louis feels like he’s going to break.  
  
There’s someone cracking open his ribs, jamming their hands inside his chest until they find his heart, pumping and beating. It’s squeezed and it hurts, it hurts _so bad_ , before it’s ripped from his chest and discarded.  
  
And that’s when he meets Eleanor.  
  
It’s funny actually, how it all fell together in the oddest of ways. He felt fragmented, torn apart limb from limb, until Harry had brought over a thin girl with a pretty face and a prettier personality, who had shyly said hi and giggled when Louis had told her that he thought she was beautiful.  
  
And suddenly, he was whole again.  
  
It was just – she was incredible. Supportive and funny, classy and elegant and lovely. The kind of person you fall in love with immediately; someone who makes you want to scream from the tallest of buildings about how enthralled you are, how perfect and extraordinary this person has made your life.  
  
For the longest time, that person for Louis had been Harry.  
  
Harry was still there, he was – more subtle, more careful and weary of his actions and gestures. Gone were the nights that he’d curl up next to Louis. Sloppy kisses to the face, hands that would intertwine, the light butterfly touch of his fingertips on Louis’ wrist – all gone.  
  
It’s raining outside on a Tuesday night when Harry leans against the doorframe of Louis’ bedroom, cradling a bowl of Cheerios. Louis has his glasses on, nose in a book when he looks up to see Harry chewing, green eyes staring.  
  
“Would you like me to pose or something?” He asks, discarding his book to lounge in the most seductive way he can muster. “You can make an oil painting or take a photo, if you’d like.”  
  
“I’m all set,” Harry smirks, lifting the bowl to take another mouthful of Cheerios. “I was just thinking and – is everything alright with Eleanor?”  
  
Louis tries not to read into it, tries not to see the tiny cracks of jealousy and self-pity that run like streaks of lightning through Harry’s words. He’s keeping a calm demeanor but his eyes give them away; easy to read as a book, Harry always was.  
  
“She’s lovely,” Louis nods, that familiar feeling of adoration rushing into his belly. “She’s just lovely, Harry.”  
  
“And you’re happy?” He cocks an eyebrow and continues to eat his cereal, eyes cast downward.  
  
“I am,” He tucks himself further into his blankets, tries not to look at his best friend. “Happier than I’ve been in a while, actually.”  
  
It’s more of a grimace than anything else, the face that Harry pulls when Louis says that. He breathes out through his nose and nods curtly. “I was just making sure.”  
  
+  
  
Time won’t stop running, won’t slow down for anyone.  
  
It doesn’t matter how famous you are, or how successful you’ve been. Time is a constant; always ticking away, smiling broadly as your time runs out, as the final seconds approach and you scramble to figure out what’s in store for you next. It doesn’t matter if you’re rich or poor, beautiful or ugly, kind or awful. You have a set time, and your time is eventually over – it’s not something negotiable, not something you can barter.  
  
Louis watches with bated breath as their final seconds tick down, eyes wide with terror.  
  
+  
  
Their record label managed to get a fourth album out of them, squeezing at every last drop they had to offer. They wanted their music to grow, to mature – as they were, as their fans were. They weren’t the fresh faced teenagers the world had been introduced to. Their experience, their time in the spotlight was carved into their faces, etched in the dark circles underneath their eyes.  
  
The fourth album was expected to be huge, to make up for the sales their third album hadn’t produced. They went into this album with a little less enthusiasm, still beaten down from the harsh light casted on the last one. Their sound had changed a bit – focused more on ballads and edgier songs, rather than the sickly sweet bubblegum pop the world was accustomed to seeing from them.  
  
The day it was released, they huddled around their computers, frantically checking stats and iTunes sales and tweets. To their dismay, the criticism was just as bad as the last album – harsher, even. It didn’t top the charts in one country. They crossed their fingers and wished upon stars that the rest of the week would bring pleasant news.  
  
That news never came.  
  
There wouldn’t be a tour. Without being told so, the boys knew this album had been their last. Louis was just so angry; where was the army of dedicated fans that had rocketed them to new heights when they had started? Where were all the girls that had pledged their allegiance to One Direction when they were barely even a functioning band?  
  
He tried not to cry when they were sat and told that the band would be taking a hiatus. He tried not to cry when Harry pinched at the bridge of his nose, sniffling. He tried not to cry when Niall had softly asked how long the hiatus would be, and the five of them didn’t get an answer.  
  
And that was it. One Direction was done; the fans were peeling away, focusing their attention on the shiny new toys that the entertainment industry had to offer. They found themselves going out in public and not getting mobbed; being asked for one or two pictures, at most. It was a blessing and a curse wrapped up in one; he missed his mates, he missed seeing the world and hearing the screams and looking out into the arenas, realizing how blessed he really was.  
  
But he was grown up now, and Louis had to accept that. He would have to pay bills and do laundry and grocery shopping; actually live out an adult life.  
  
It wasn’t really a shock when one day, Eleanor had walked out of the bedroom of the flat they had moved into together with suitcases in her hand. _We’re different people now than we were when we met_ , she had said, running a thumb across his cheek. _I care about you a lot, but I need a change_.  And he had pressed a kiss to her cheek and told her he loved her and he hated to see her go, but that he understood.  
  
And just like that, Louis was alone. The flat seemed too big, too empty for just one person to live in, and he found himself packing up his things and making phone calls, eager to get away, move away from something that had been a part of him for so long. He needed a change as well, but something that had sweet familiarity to it; something that would keep him warm. The flat was put up for sale, and he decided he’d spend a week more in London before figuring the rest of his life out.  
  
He needed a place to stay.  
  
He opened the door to another flat, discarded his suitcases on the ground and grinned at Harry, who had dinner waiting on the table for the two of them.  
  
“Welcome home, Lou,” Harry said.  
  
+  
  
London was suffocating at times, and Louis was getting bored.  
  
He figured he’d keep a low profile, only go out if he absolutely _had_ to – unlike Harry, who did as best as he could to keep up with his spread of famous friends. And that got to Louis in particular, because it had been ages since he and Harry had lived together, and he wasn’t sure as to why Harry seemed to be skittish around him, peering at Louis lazily draped on the futon or curling up next to him in bed as if he was a ghost, rather than a real person. They had spent months being weary of one another; Louis not knowing his limits and Harry acting as if he’d just met Louis.  
  
“I’m going to a bar tonight,” Harry says one afternoon, handing Louis a plate of the fry-up he had made. “Nick and Amy and Pixie have invited me; they’ve said you should tag along too. Wanna come?”  
  
“Erm,” Louis takes a bite and chews, washing it down with a mouthful of tea. “Not in particular, no.”  
  
Harry sticks his lower lip out, eyebrows furrowing. “You haven’t even given them a _chance_ , Louis.”  
  
“I’d just rather stay here,” He clears his throat and looks around the room, trying to avoid Harry’s eyes. “And you’re always out, you know – I highly doubt it would kill you to stay in one night and watch films with me. I could make biscuits or cake or something.”  
  
Harry eyes him, cocks an eyebrow. “You can barely manage to make Ramen without setting the kitchen on fire.”  
  
“ _You_ could make biscuits or cake or something,” Louis corrects. “ _I_ could pick out the film.”  
  
He tries not to look mildly offended when Harry simply shrugs. “Maybe another time; I’ve already told them I’d come out.”  
  
“Fine,” The word comes out snippier than Louis had intended.  
  
“Well, I’m not sure what you expect from me, Louis,” Harry sets his fork down with a loud _clank_ and eyes his friend. “You’ve spent the last three years ignoring me and all of a sudden you’re demanding my attention and I don’t really think that’s fair.”  
  
His jaw drops. “ _Ignoring_ you? We were in a _band_ together, mate – couldn’t have ignored you if I tried.”  
  
“You know very well what I mean,” Harry sniffs, standing up to clear their plates. “Wrapped up in the romance of a century and then she’s gone and you’re back here. Just a bit dodgy, in my opinion.”  
  
“If you didn’t want me here,” Louis bites out. “You could’ve asked me to leave.”  
  
“I’m not going to ask someone who was my best mate to leave,” Harry calls from the kitchen.  
  
All Louis could hear was _just a bit dodgy_ and _ignoring me_ and _was, was, was_.  
  
Harry had come out of his room in a stupid beanie and skinny jeans and a sweater, hands in his pockets. Louis had muttered _pretentious arsehole_ underneath his breath, and he was sure Harry had heard because he looked absolutely wounded, and left without a word.  
  
Feeling terribly hurt because Harry was his best friend, only he wasn’t anymore and wondering where things had gone so wrong, Louis pulls out a laptop and makes a few phone calls, and moves all of his possessions to the front door of the flat, silently thanking himself for never properly unpacking.  
  
When his car is here and Louis has thrown one of Harry’s jackets on – the one with the white fuzzy collar, which still fit them both even after all these years – he scribbles down a note for Harry to come home to.  
  
 _H -  
  
Terribly sorry that I’ve been such a burden. Never meant to hurt you, or make you think that we weren’t mates anymore.  
  
Doing a bit of travelling – need to figure myself out. I’m shutting my mobile off, so no use in calling. I’ll write you, alright?  
  
Always yours,  
Louis  
  
_Harry had come home early in the morning and stayed up until the sun rise, eyes red, reading the note over and over again. _  
  
_+  
  
 _Dear Harry,  
  
Ireland is fucking cold. Really, really fucking cold. And green – Niall wasn’t lying. I’ve had a good time here so far. Everyone’s really friendly and helpful and I can see where Niall gets it from. The beer here is splendid as well – stronger, I feel, but I could be wrong. How’s everything going? If you talk to any of the lads, send them my best. Remember the time we went to Niall’s house and drank pints and got completely smashed? You threw up in his bushes and didn’t look at his mum throughout breakfast, haha.  
  
Always yours,  
Louis  
  
Dear Louis,  
  
I’m still not entirely sure why you left, and it’s a bit lonely in this flat without you – always has been, I suppose. Anyways, I’m sure the cold weather has you buying lots of new jumpers. Get a green one for me!! Niall and the boys say hello, and I’m not supposed to tell you this, but Niall is a bit pressed that you haven’t rang him up, with you being in Ireland and all. Sorry if I wasn’t supposed to tell him you were there – it just slipped out in casual conversation. And yes, I remember that night and throwing up and all that, but I’ve been trying to forget about it!!  
  
Love,  
Harry  
  
_+  
  
 _Dear Harry,  
  
I’ve decided to give New Zealand another go, as it never disappointed before. I’ve got quite the nice tan. I think you’d be impressed. I don’t expect you to understand why I’ve left (I don’t understand why I’ve left, either) but I’ll be back before you know it. I’ve only been recognized a few times, and guess what? They’ve all asked about you. Not the other boys, which I thought was quite peculiar – only you. Anyways, I’m doing the touristy stuff – surfing and sunbathing and seeing all the animals and whatnot. Not quite the same without you lads, lounging around on the boats and things. I think I actually may miss you boys.  
  
Always yours,  
Louis  
  
Dear Louis,  
  
Have you seen the topless sunbathers yet? That I think was a highlight for all of us in New Zealand, if I’m being quite honest. You always have a lovely tan, Louis. I just wish you had stayed and talked instead of jetting away to wherever you’re going – a chat with you has always solved my problems, and I wonder why it’s not the same for you, talking to me and all. I guess maybe I’m not that good to talk to. You have my permission to make up crazy rumours about me to anyone that asks. Tell them I’ve got a glass eye now or that I’m secretly married or something. It’d be a laugh to see what the papers come up with. I miss you a lot.  
  
Love,  
Harry  
  
_+  
  
 _Dear Harry,  
  
I’m so completely full on food right now that I could die. I’m not sure how I’m even writing this to you right now. Italian food is so, so good. We should really come here someday, together – or something, we can ask the other lads if you want. It’s up to you. And Harry – don’t say things like that. Of course talking to you helps me, but some things you just have to do for yourself, and I have a bit of figuring out to do before I can come home. It’s just like – you’ve always been there and I’ve been a brat for the last few years, I didn’t really know a good thing when I had it and I’ve messed that up and I’m not sure how to fix it. You’re just a lovely person and I think I’ve hurt you and that’s not fair. Anyways, I miss you and please tell me what’s been going on in your life.  
  
Always yours,  
Louis  
  
Dear Louis,  
  
I think it would be nice to go to Italy with you someday. Maybe it could be a trip for just us two – we’ve been to Italy with the other lads loads of times. It would be fun to actually be a tourist, I think. I worded what I was trying to say really harshly the other day and I’m sorry if you took it the wrong way. I just wasn’t used to the idea of you being someone else’s because it’s always sort of been you and me? And I know that’s a selfish thought but I lost you for a little bit and my friends were kind of there, and that’s why when you came back I was acting strangely. I was hurt, yeah, but I think if you came home it’d be easily resolved. I miss you too and nothing interesting has been happening. Oh, I’ve adopted a kitten! It’s black with white paws and a white patch over its eye, and it has the cutest pink nose. I’ve named him Whiskers (I know you’re going to say something like ‘oh how extremely original of you’ but he just LOOKS like a Whiskers). Anyways, come home soon.  
  
Love,  
Harry (and Whiskers)  
  
_+  
  
 _Dear Harry,  
  
I found myself on a flight back to the States – remember how badly we’d miss home when we were there? It’s actually not that bad. I’ve holed up in a hotel in Boston, Massachusetts and the accents are hilarious and people are really crazy drivers. It’s a bit cold here too, and some woman told me that New England weather is crazily unpredictable, so I should expect a heat wave or a blizzard or both while I’m here. If I remember correctly, there were quite a few fans here that caught your eye!  
  
You shouldn’t apologize to me – I think it’s safe if we both just stopped apologizing to each other. I agree though, it’s always been just us two and I can see how adding someone else into the mix would be strange for you – it was strange for me watching you date people, but I wasn’t going to hold you back? I’m not sure, I just wish things would get patched up soon, because I’m sorry if this is extremely out of the blue and unexpected, but I’m quite certain that I fancy you and it’s gone a lot further than just I adore you for certain reasons. It might be a hint of love – don’t let that scare you; you know how easily I fall in love. It’s exactly like you said – you and me, since the beginning. Whiskers sounds lovely and I can’t wait to meet him. I’ll be home soon.  
  
Always yours,  
Louis  
  
Dear Louis,  
  
I still laugh at how much we dreaded being there – I’ve been on a few trips back there and it’s not bad at all. It was just new to us, you know. Boston was actually one of my favorites – I remember going to that mall when Zayn was gone, for that signing. Crazy how quickly things blew up. And yes, a few fans caught my eye, you were right. Boston girls are terribly fit, I think.  
  
Yes, we should stop apologizing to each other, because I think we’ve both messed up enough times to have an even playing field of sorts. I mean, of course I liked other people – loads of girls, even Nick for a little bit – but they just weren’t you. And that was strange, I think, because I was always looking for that sort of connection and never quite found it. Unfair of me to judge people based on the bond we had. I’m not scared, Louis, because I reckon I’ve always fancied you too and it’s strange to think that I’ve felt that way for a long time and it’s just being said now – not even in person, through letters, because you left and that sucks. Come home.  
  
Love,  
Harry  
  
_+  
  
He’s wearing a jumper and pajama bottoms and stupid slippers, and his eyes are still bleary from the long flight home. He’s standing in front of Harry’s flat, keys pressing so hard into his palms that he thinks they’re leaving marks, but he’s finally home – home in all the right senses of the word, home with Harry and now Whiskers and this new found mutual adoration that they have for each other.  
  
It’s really late, and Louis knows Harry will be sleeping, so he enters the flat as quietly as he can, grimacing when the door creaks shut at an alarming sound level. He drops all of his bags on the floor and pushes open the door to Harry’s room.  
  
And he’s lying there, mouth parted slightly and a hand draped across his stomach, fingers splayed out against his skin. He looks so calm and young and peaceful and Louis wants to cry, wants to cry because this is Harry and he’s known him since he was 17 and he’s loved him since then.  
  
He climbs into bed and pulls Harry closer, and those green eyes flutter open. A sleepy smile stretches across his mouth and he presses his face into Louis’ neck, breathing in his scent. “You’re home,” He whispers, and his voice is so low and raspy that Louis can’t help but smile back.  
  
“I’m home,” He agrees.  
  
“With me?” He’s sure Harry means it as a statement but it perks up at the end, hanging in the air between them, and his chest is rising and falling slowly and Louis knows they’re both about to fall asleep.  
  
“You and me, since the beginning.”


End file.
